yes i am putting this on all the social networking sites

I am getting increasingly frustrated with American users of Tumblr and other international social network platforms (including forums) assuming that the US is the default experience for everybody and forgetting that other users, their audience, are international.

Users from every other country invariably start posts with phrases like “In the [country they are in]” or “here”, or dropping the name of their home country in somewhere letting us know that the specific place is important and acknowledging that their experience is not universal. USA users however seem to just dive right in to their topic and we have to hope that there is sufficient reference to US things in there that we can put their post in context.

But just relying on things like references to health insurance isn’t enough. Other countries can have similar systems or use the same terms. Expecting people to understand your own terminology is more of this US-centric behaviour. Why should we know all these details? Yes a lot of international media is American, but not all of the media we consume is or is even accurate.

To top it off, when a non-US person replies to a US post with information that may be country specific (i.e. a Brit replying to a post about tuition fees without knowing the poster is from the US) they will often get derided and called stupid for their answer being unhelpful. In the reverse scenario, the Brit (or other country OP) will be lambasted for not being clear or for “forgetting that a lot of American people use this site.”.

  • Remember that America is not the only country and Americans aren’t the only users.
  • Don’t expect people to automatically know where you are from.
  • Don’t assume an experience is universal.
  • Alternatively don’t think that something is so uniquely American that it couldn’t possibly be anywhere anywhere else (e.g. health care, republicans, democrats, a bag full of bags).
  • Give some concrete indicator of what country you are referring to or that location is important.
  • Don’t be a dick to people who aren’t American or whose experiences differ.
The Only Exception - Part 5

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: you don’t believe in romantic love, you find it pathetic. But maybe, you make an exception when you meet James ‘Bucky’ Barnes.

A/N: after a loooong time, I am finally back with another chapter of this series I love so much. I have not been active these weeks because they have been exhausting, but I made some time between duties to write as to not abandon this series. As you may know, or maybe not, I am a big BIG fan of The Strokes and I have watched the shows they have done these past weeks so, there are a few things that are similar to what happened at The Strokes’ shows and the days after them. I hope you enjoy this part and thank you to all of you because you make me really happy!

Tags: @supersoldierslover @barnesandnoble13 @vivianbabz @petals-overdaisies @damnbuckyishot @brazien @siobhanrebecca @shamvictoria11 @independentgirl @elwenia @flaipa

Originally posted by wanderersandaliens

(Credits to the owner of the gif)

You reappear on the stage and the public goes crazy with their shouts.

“We were talking backstage guys and we said that we cannot leave you yet.” Again, your words are the reason why the audience shouts. You are lying if you say you are not excited and moved when you see that all these people are here to see you and your band. “Ok, we ready?” you ask to the guys of your band, they nod with their heads and the chords of the guitars and of the bass start, then the drums follow, and so does your voice.

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Nothing 3

Title: Nothing  3 (Jimin ft. Jin)
Genre: Angst.

WARNING: Parasuicide, cutting.

A/N: This chapter has been in my head for so long. It’s nice to type it all out. :)

Nothing 2 4

Originally posted by bangtaninspired

Originally posted by amsimaria

Two months. You had locked yourself inside your apartment for nearly two months. It wasn’t a worry for your professors because you had taken the school work for three months and finished it. You only went out to pass the stacks of school work to your professors and for a grocery worth five months.

You were so exhausted, dirty, and sleep-deprived. So, this is how it feels to be heartbroken, you say to yourself as you stare at yourself in the mirror.  You were a wreck and you knew it.

You stared at the knife lying down near the mirror. Your little stress reliever. Your hand trembled as it held the knife. Your tears were overflowing, your head felt light. Everything hurt you. You needed something from the outside.

The blade cuts your wrist open. Your tiny screams joined your sobs.
The sight of your blood trickling down against your pale skin and past scars made you drop the knife. You leant on the wall and stared at the scarlet blood. It was awful but then it was better than the pain inside you, it was a little relieving. You thought of your family and friends. What would they say?

Guilt flooded over you and you stood up to wash your little wound. You cried yourself to sleep while feeding on ice cream. You only had ice cream for dinner. You barely ate. It sucked to live like this. It felt like you were on a loop. But, what else can you do?

You were having one of your crying episodes when someone knocked on your door. It was probably your landlord, asking if there were any faults in the kitchen or something. You were happy that you were able to take a bath at least thrice a week. It was decent enough. You wiped off the blood and put on one of your hoodies.

To your surprise, it was not your landlord who was in front of you. It was Jin. He was staring at you with concerned eyes and he was clutching a bag of food.

“J-Jin,” you stammered. You felt guilty for ignoring all of them for two months. You had shut your phone off and hid it in your closet. You also never went to social networking sites. It was only Youtube, Google, or

He wrapped his arms around you and hugged you tightly. You felt the wall you’ve been building break. You wanted to sit down with him and cry everything out.

“Where were you?” he buried his face in your neck, inhaling your hair. You cringed at the thought of him inhaling your dirty hair.
“I was here the whole time.” you were close to crying. You had told your landlord to not let visitors come and visit you under the reason that you were studying for your finals.

“Your landlord said you went somewhere,” he broke the hug and looked at you.

“I know,” you say. You get his bag of food and take him to the kitchen. Jin sat on one of your wooden chairs and stared at your figure while working on the food. After that, you sat in front of him and you both looked at each other.

“How…how are you?” Jin asked.

The question sent rippless of epain through you. You hadn’t heard that question for two months. You looked down, “I’m fine. You?”

“No, you’re not. How could you do this? Nothing for months.” Jin wrapped his hand around your hand. It was such a comfort having your warm hand underneath his big cold hand.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, “I just can’t with…you know.”

“Y/N, that’s okay. Cry it all out,” he said, walking over to you and hugging you again. The feeling of being hugged after two months was overwhelming. You cried it all out to him.


Months had passed and Jin was a constant in your life.

You were born from a well-off family. You knew nothing would stop you from moving out. You drummed your fingers on the table as you waited for Jin. Jin had always been there for you after that night. He came from time to time to visit you. He had also encouraged you to go back to school. Then, he asked if he could bring Jungkook, then Taehyung, then Hoseok, then Namjoon. You happily entertained them in your apartment. 

Suga visited you alone. He brought some of the songs he was working on and you would both listen to it. It was a little awkward between the two of you because Suga was one of Jimin’s closest friends. Eventually, he came voluntarily and you both started having movie nights or lazy days where you would read comic books. 

You had never told anyone about you moving out. You had it all prepared. Your visa, your books, your apartment there…your new university.

Jin appeared, he looked handsome in just his big hoodie and jeans. His eyes lit up when he saw you, you waved at him. You took a deep breath as he sat down. You decided to do it slowly.

You and Jin talked about random things through the big bowls of the sundae. You decided you could tell him already, it hurt your heart.

He looked at you with his big brown eyes, “Yes, Y/N.?”

You closed your eyes and opened to a concerned Jin, “I…I’m moving out,”

“Oh,” he looked a little shocked, “That’s fine. Want me to look for new apartments?”

He blabbered about apartments in Seoul.

You cut him off, “No, Jin. I’m moving out of the country. I…I applied for this university in London. My flight is on Saturday. I’ve… I only have–”

“You only have three days,” Jin looked down, his voice trembling. Your eyes were swelling, you didn’t want to cry in front of him. You wanted to look happy and grateful and thankful in front of Jin. You reached for his hand and both of you cried.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you dabbed your tears with your sleeves. It didn’t matter because your tears didn’t stop.

“Don’t be,” Jin wiped his tears too. You nearly smiled, imagining the sight of both of you in the ice cream parlour crying and holding on to each other.

“I…I don’t want to treat you like how…he…did. I don’t want you to be my comforter, my tissue. I don’t want to hurt you,” you cleared your voice and straightened up, “I want to do this alone. I want to be independent. I’ll…come back soon. When I am happy again when I’m really fine when I’m healed. I promise I’ll come back.”

“You were never a burden to me, Y/N…” Jin said, you just shook your head. You knew you would say these things if Jimin told you these.

You both look down, suddenly interested at the table.

“Just…just come back stronger and happier,” Jin held your face.

 He did something you never thought he would. He kissed you. You kissed back. It was a bittersweet kiss, a kiss of letting go. It wasn’t a breakup kiss. It was a kiss telling you that he would always be there for you. That he would crumble to pieces with you.

Ophie Hunter: the exclusive second lost interview

Interviewer: 3 years of complete silence and now 2 interviews in 2 weeks…

Rachel: For the record, I want it to be perfectly clear that it was not my idea to give this second interview so soon after the first one. I do not need to remind anyone, that I am a shy and private person, who strongly dislikes the spotlight and abhors self-promotion. You can’t even begin to imagine, how difficult it is for someone like me to come forward and be the center of attention again but I was strongly persuaded to do it.

Int: You were? By whom?

Ophie: I will name no names. It is sufficient to say that I received an angry and extremely menacing phone call from a well-known American film producer and film studio executive (he and his brother have been co-chairmen of their own production company, since 2005) you can call him Mr. W.
Mr. W. shouted at me over the phone that in my previous interview I came off as “a self-important snob boasting of her refined tastes and worldliness through language” . I strongly disagree but he was most persistent, that I should retract the statements I made in my previous interview and clean my image.

Int: What was your immediate reaction to his phone call?

Ophie: The avant-garde artist in me immediately saw the potential opera and theatrical narrative of the individual in that phone call and created a moodboard which included the images of the 1781 oil painting “The Nightmare” by the Anglo- Swiss artist Henry Fuseli, and the bloody horse-head scene from the 1972 American crime film “The Godfather” directed by Francis Ford Coppola (based on Mario Puzo’s best-selling novel with the same name).
The whole concept of a ‘mafia theatrical opera’ came to me as a vision and inspired what will be a wonderful work for the operatic stage. I will be seeking to develop a new kind of theatrical event reflecting and profoundly questioning the actualities of my way of looking at the world.

Int: Some people also accused you of being pretentious. Do you think there was some truth in those claims?

Rachel: Pretentious, moi? Don’t be ridiculous. Conflating “foreign”, “artistic”, “intelectual” with “pretence” as you do in the working classes is disquietingly parochial.

Int: Do you care to elaborate on that?

Rachel: People are always suspicious of the unconventional. Experimental literature, avant-garde performances, modernist art, or fashion design are only pretentious for you low and middle classes!
I have never pursued these interests out of affectation! I have an art school degree and decades of experience as an Actress/Opera Director/Playwriter/Avant-Garde Artist/Model-Fashionista/Producer extraordinaire working in the field of Contemporary Art/Indie and Mainstream Cinema/Experimental Theater/Fashion/Opera, so you could say I’ve spent a life embedded in pretension. But you would be wrong.

Int: How is that?

Rachel: I am just one of the crowd really! I get on with my staff (when they do their jobs properly). My sense of sense of humour is very appreciated (amongst people who I have on payroll). I smile a lot and even genuinely (for the paparazzi). I have friends who can vouch just how my salt-of-the-earth credentials are. I am a very likable and emphatic person who is also involved in Charities.

Int: What Charities?

Rachel: I do not like to brag but I am most commited to help people to fulfill their hopes and dreams.
Particularly my close relatives and friends because as mother says ‘Charity begins at home’. Naturally, I understand the overriding demands of taking care of one’s family, before caring for others and I have dozens of close relatives, and friends - each one with his/her own ambitions, dreams- and as God is my witness, I will not rest until Bob helps each and everyone of them to find their way, their ambition and their success in this world!

Int: What were the other reactions to your first interview?

Ophie: As soon as the interview was out I received hundreds of notifications on my phone. Naturally I assumed that the interview had gone viral and I was receiving congratulations and accolades, instead you can imagine my surprise when all I got was worried and stressed messages from my interns reporting to me that I was receiving all sorts of negative reactions on social media. Among other surprising and unfair things, people were accusing me, ME of being a Diva that was putting on airs and graces.

Inter: How did you react to those accusations?

Ophie: I was very upset, obviously! I’ve never done one diva-ish thing in my life. Not a single one! I had a temper-tantrum, then calmed down, collected myself, flipped my hair and proceeded in firing all the members of my in-house staff- who were responsible for managing my online reputation and I left the stage, I mean the meeting room!

Int: You fired everybody? Wasn’t that a bit extreme?

Rachel: No it really wasn’t. My intern’s job’s descriptions were perfectly clear since day one: manage my name domain online, establish a clear, fleshed-out presence on multiple social networking sites, post to each of them at least once a week, blurr my husband’s face in all the photos where I, a celebrity in my own right, was endorsing high profile brands and products such as designer shoes and jewelry, fashion clothes and accessories- while simultaneously tagging his name in order to lure in his fandom, and most importantly keep monitoring the web (particularly the hateful so-called “Skeptics” blogs) for any unflattering photos or mentions of me.
If they did find something negative or unflattering, they had clear orders to do everything in their power to bury them with positive content. They failed on all accounts.

Int: What happened next?

Ophie: My Media Team Management which included my Reputation Manager, my Press representative, my Public relations publicist, my Special publicity consultant, my Unit publicist and my Media Agent resigned in block allegedly because they were “extremely frustrated with me and particularly my perceived interference in the team’s affairs”. The truth was that they promised to make my preferred online profile float to the top of search results in order to boost my personal or corporate brand and instead due to their collective incompetence they failed to achieve my stated target of securing me a place in the Top Celebrities League.

Int: Did you feel people misunderstood you?

Rachel: Yes of course. I want people to understand- because Mr. W. was most insistent about this specific point- that I care hugely about my role. I care hugely about Bob. I care hugely about SM. I think Sunny March is a fantastic organisation full of people who just want to make a difference.
I want people to know that I want to be a tool to Bob, SM and Mr. W- if they really enable me and my people to make a real difference in Bob’s career. I want Mr. W to know that I am extremly commited to help him on this long-term agenda, because I think that this is the opportunity of a life time, and I think I’ll probably look back over the last three years and say, that we helped each other a lot.

Int: Do you intend to give any more interviews in future?

WHM: In the immortal words of mother: Watch this space! You never know.

Int: Thank you Ophie!

Ophie: That’s Mrs. Cumberbatch for you!

# cumber*atch # benedic*cumber*atch # lovingwifey # realcouplesarereal # realfamilies # ben*phie4eva # ijustwanttobefamous # 17yearsgoingon2weeksandcounting #hopeitlasts


Anna:  After reading the above submission, I feel the need to be very clear:

This is not a real interview by Sophie Hunter.  I repeat.  NOT a real interview.

I just feel it’s imperative I make the distinction, because the snarky Anon who’s getting these imaginary exclusives has managed to capture Weirdo’s spirit so well, I half expect excerpts from it to end up on SHC as quotes.  Having said that, the interns who run SHC haven’t posted anything since the 4th of March, so perhaps I don’t need to be as vigilant…

Those Eyes

This is difficult, very difficult. I am not at all comfortable with this. I keep reminding myself why I’m doing it. These are not the typist’s words. The typist is not me, but my sister. I don’t know if she believes me, but she’s giving me the help I need, the help I’ve needed for a while now. She is transcribing what I’ve spoken to her with a trembling voice. I could not type it myself since I do not own a computer anymore. What has happened has tainted technology for me, presumably forever. I wanted this to be in the past. I wanted to lock it up in a box never to be reopened, but I have to visit that dark place now. I don’t want this to happen to anyone else. I am managing in my life, not thriving, but managing. I have a small place where I keep the television on all the time. I like the sound. I sleep with on so that the noise will drown out the bumps and whispers that plague me now. It was a television that prompted me to do this, to tell this story. I was awake one night, as I am most nights, and I came across a television program called “Catfish.” I did not know what this show was about or what the title meant. I was horrified when I found out the premise of the program, people using fake photographs to meet romantic partners on social networking websites finally revealing the truth to those they had fooled. The deceit did not shock me nor did the anticipation of the reveal. I was so stunned that there were still so many people on the Internet who would search for a fake photograph to lure others into conversation and romantic relationships. This concerned me so much because it is exactly what I did and its what changed my life forever.

I will start from the beginning, the pertinent beginning. When my family first got the Internet my sister and I would stay up late during the summer and venture into chat rooms. This was before webcams and digital photography so people didn’t really ask for photos of their chatting partners. A description would suffice and it didn’t really matter what you would make up. Of course, I would create someone who I thought was the ideal beauty. Someone who was tall and thin who had long hair and a perfect smile. Needless to say in reality I did not fit this description. I have no deformities or abnormalities, but I’m not a dream girl by any means, just plain. I could be in a room with you for an hour and you may not notice. I’m that type of girl.

Usually, the Internet was reserved for weekends and holidays. I was part of the last generation whose entire youth did not revolve around the Internet I suppose. That all changed when I was a senior in high school. This was during Myspace’s glory day. Suddenly there was a way of communicating online that did not involve a chat room. Your whole existence could be laid out for all to see. Your likes, dislikes, education, hobbies, musical preferences and, yes, pictures, were right there in front of everyone. All the kids at my school had joined and talked about it often, but they rarely mentioned talking to each other on Myspace, but rather they would speak about all the new friends they had made through the site. This intrigued me. Could I be someone completely different on Myspace? Could I start from scratch? No one had to know the real me, or at least I could show them only the parts I wanted them to see. How terribly I wish that this silly idea had never come to fruition.

I filled out my Myspace with truthful and accurate information. I listed my favorite bands and movies, my birthdate and a short bio revealing that I liked swimming and watching horror movies. Everything I posted was true except for the photograph. I knew that if I posted my own photo I probably wouldn’t get much attention. I will admit, as stupid as it makes me feel, that is part of what I wanted, attention.

I wondered how to find my new face. Maybe I could scan a picture of a pretty girl from my school. No, then people from my area may recognize her. Being oblivious to the obvious I, at last, realized that the answer was right at my fingertips. Myspace had millions of users. I could just search for the Myspaces of girls my age and pick one whose photos I could steal. As naïve as it may sound I thought I was the first and only person to do this. I felt ashamed, but reconciled my guilt with the fact that I wasn’t hurting anyone, or so I thought. I decided to search for girls who lived far from me so as to not be found out by someone who may know the girl in reality. I live on the east coast so I picked California, a large state full of cute sun kissed girls.

I scanned through dozens of profiles passing on girls who were too this or not enough that. I don’t really know what I was looking for exactly. I did not have a clear picture of the girl I was looking for, although many of these girls were beautiful, none of them seemed quite right. I was growing tired in my search and wanted to take a break, but instead I decided to scroll through one last page of profiles.

I remember it clearly the photo, that photo. It was on the second to last row from the bottom of that last page I clicked on. I have tried to describe the girl pictured, but my descriptions always seem to fall short. You would not mistake her for a supermodel, but you would definitely look twice at her. The picture showed the girl from the knees up. She was youthful, but womanly. She wore a light blue sundress with thin straps that showed her lightly tanned shoulders and arms, which hung casually at her sides. Her light brown hair was put into a high ponytail with the long bangs tucked behind her ears. She wore no apparent makeup or jewelry. She had a close-mouthed smile and almond shaped sea green eyes. It was her eyes that interested me the most. I had always wished that I had green eyes instead of my chestnut brown ones that my sister would liken to roaches when teasing me. I do not remember anything else about what was shown in the photograph or the Myspace profile, I just remember the picture. I knew this was the picture I had been looking for. I quickly opened her Myspace, saved the lone picture that was posted and uploaded it to my own profile.

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Soldier Wars - Begin Again

Chapter 3 - Begin Again
[Read Chapter 1][Read Chapter 2][Read Chapter 4][Read Chapter 5][Read Chapter 6]

Summary: Ever wonder how Eli, Umi and Maki became Soldiers? 

Words: ~9,000

Tags: #The Soldiers Strike Back, #How Far Will They Get

Note: 3,2,1,0…the next round of the game has begun

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Imagine with Zayn: He Confesses His Loves for You

Being linked with Zayn, you half anticipated the amount of attention you would receive. Despite only having a friendly relationship, the paparazzi would do anything to get two words out of you, and the jealous fans would do anything to take you down and take your place. But strangely enough the negativity towards you affected Zayn more than yourself. He hated the way the fans and the reporters treated you, especially because they don’t know who you really are. They made up rumors and told lies that spread like wildfire around social networking sites. Recently, rumors that you and Zayn were secretly in a sexual relationship were at its peak and that made the fans and paparazzi more aggressive than ever.

            You walk along side Zayn from your recent trip to a local ice cream shop in the city One Direction was touring in.

“What flavor did you get?” he mumbles, his mouth full of ice cream.

“Mint Chocolate Chip,” you gulped your last bite.

He took his spoon and dipped it into your cup and took a spoonful of your ice cream.

“Hey!” you protested playfully, moving slightly away from him.

He laughed along with you before he took a bite, “Mm, its sweet. Mine was shit,” He said scornfully towards his ice cream. “Are you done?” he said eyeing you from the side.

You shook your head and handed him your empty cup of ice cream. He took it and threw it in a nearby trashcan that was placed along the curb of the city street.

You, unknowingly, smiled at him as he threw away the trash. You could tell why the fans and the media would spread dating rumors. You guys were constantly together, going out to dinner or going bowling or getting ice cream. You always beam at each other and sometimes even hold and hug each other much longer than friends should.

“What are you thinking about?” he said smirking in your peripheral vision.

“Nothing I-” you were interrupted by a few high squeaks.

You and Zayn both turn around to see three fans approaching the two you, obviously eager to meet their long time idol.

“You know, if we run right now,” he whispered. “We can probably out run them.”

You placed a hand over your mouth to refrain from laughing, “No, they are your fans.” You tried to scold him but end up giggling instead.

The fans finally reached the two of you and asked Zayn for the usual, an autograph and a picture. Zayn and the three girls talked for about five minutes before you intruded.

“Zayn, we have a sound check in a half an hour, we should get going.” You said softly even though you were saving Zayn from forming conversation with three fan girls.

“Why do you have to take him from us!” one of the fans exclaimed. “Why can’t you just let us spend a little time with him?” she said forcefully.

“I’m sorry sweetie but we are running late and Zayn has other responsibilities to attend to.” You tried to negotiate with the girl.

“You’re a selfish little bitch!” another one screamed.

“We all know your just fucking him for attention and we all know that every second you spend with him is another dollar in your wallet you ungrateful little whore-”

“That’s enough!” Zayn yelled above all their tiny voices.

He took your hand and interlocked your fingers before he guided you through the fans and towards the back room of the hotel.

The fans screamed to him, “Where are you going?” they bawled.

“I don’t have to explain anything to fake fans.” He spits before he leads you inside to an empty room.

He placed a hand on the small of your back and leads you into the middle of the room. He stands in front of you now and cups your face before drastically trying to read your face. His eyes roam yours trying to find any hurt feelings or anything to put back together.

“Are you all right?” he questions.

“Yeah I’m okay,” you say truthfully. The fans words hurt but their words blew over your head and you were trying to completely forget all that was said. “Its all okay.” You repeated to yourself.

“No its not,” he groaned. He ran both his hands through his hair and exhaled loudly. “I just don’t get it!” he half screamed.

You stand in place, not really knowing what to do, “What-what don’t you get?”

“I don’t get how these people can make up all these shitty rumors and stories to put you down. I don’t get why you are the target everyone wants to hit to hurt me. And I will never understand how these people hate you so much when I am so completely and madly in love with you!” he said frantically.

Your eyes go wide, “You-you love me?” you whisper.

Zayn jolts around suddenly realizing his confession. He approaches you slowly before he cups your face and again looks into your eyes to see any sort of replication for his affection. “Yes,” he finally says before he realizes that your eyes won’t give anything away. “Do you feel the same way?”

You go into the deepest part of your mind and think of all the memories you and Zayn have together. You think of all the nights you stayed thinking of scenarios where Zayn confesses his love and you two finally end up together forever. You feel that warmth in your heart and the butterflies in your stomach, “Yes,” you say softly. “I do.”

He laughs, releasing the tension that was building up inside of him. He rubbed circles with this thumb across your cheeks. His eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips and back to you eyes. Slowly, he leans down a places a soft kiss to you cheek. Your lips move together and your hands are all over each other. When you released you both were gasping for air.

“I love you.” He said testing the words out on his tongue and wrapping his arms around you.

You giggled and put both of your hands on his chest, “I love you too.” You whispered.

Growing Up

“I wanted a romantic night in with you, that’s all…and your bloody psychopathic father ruined it!”

“He is not a damn psychopath! He is a high functioning sociopath…with your address!”

“MUM! DAD! For God’s sake!”

Scarlett Holmes shielded her eyes as she stepped quickly into the flat; Sherlock and Molly jumped from the sofa, righting their hair and clothing. She was rifling through her bag when her father spoke, his voice deeper and throatier than usual.

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